


Say

by coffeelings



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, D&D can suck it, F/M, Feelings Realization, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Love Confessions, Not Quite a Drabble, Post-War, canon is what you make it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeelings/pseuds/coffeelings
Summary: Gendry wondered if her tongue stole his words each time she tasted him, for as so often happened after her lips touched his, he didn't know what to say.A shortish post-Long Night fic, in which Gendry adjusts to a new reality and finally finds the words to say what he means.





	Say

**Author's Note:**

> Idk man I just can't not write them?? Lol. Just in time for a new episode..
> 
> EDIT 05/05: this work may be used to build a very long fic based on the EVENTS that just TRANSPIRED in s8e4 once I have allowed my heart to heal

 

When morning broke upon the Long Night, he was alive, standing beside Tormund the Wildling upon a pile of writhing dead, his arms burning with the weight of his dragonglass axe, knowing the moment he stopped fighting would certainly be his last, when suddenly the wights crumpled lifelessly around them. He stood still for a few moments, ready to strike, wary that at any moment the dead might simply rise again and end them. But seconds passed, then minutes, and they did not rise, so there Gendry stood, blinking in the light of the dawn stupidly as the stench of corpses and the sound of Jon Snow's distant, hoarse shouts finally reached him. At some point Tormund had roared at the sky and grinned fiercely at him. Gendry would not soon forget the Wildling's icy blue stare, the only one that had brought him comfort amidst the thousands belonging to the wights they had crushed into dust. 

As the reality of survival set in, there was only one living person Gendry wanted to find. He stumbled through piles of bodies for what seemed like hours. Somewhere he came across the spear he had made for her, snapped in two. He did not want to think about how that had happened. Eventually, he made his way into the Godswood, where it seemed many other survivors had gathered. He saw Bran Stark sitting beneath the enormous white tree, the only one among them not covered head to toe in blood and dirt and bits of the dead. He saw Jon Snow bracing himself on one of the low branches, staring at the ground. The Dragon Queen was beside him clutching a rusty sword, her face streaked with tears. Sandor Clegane sat against one of the castle walls far away and was looking ahead of him at nothing in particular. Women and children, led by Lady Sansa and Lord Tyrion Lannister, had emerged from the crypts, looking terrified. There were others, but Gendry couldn't see them, because she was walking towards him. 

Arya Stark was covered in dirt, a sizeable gash in her forehead barely oozing. She approached him with an unblinking gaze fixed upon his, a dagger in her hand and ice crystals crunching beneath her boots with her every step. Gendry had tried to say something, anything, when she finally stood before him, but words wouldn't come. She seemed to tower over every living soul in the North, her chin tilted towards him, an angry red hand print visible on her neck. It was then he understood -  _she ended it. She'd done it. She killed death and ended the Long Night_. 

Wordlessly, she dropped the weapon in her hand and threw her arms around him. He did the same, lifting her off the ground as she kissed him full on the mouth. Gendry's body had been aching sorely from the battle, but her touch had relieved him so quickly that he knew he could have fought another army of wights at that moment if it meant she would continue to live. He felt the eyes of Jon and the others as (he assumed) they looked on, quite sure they would never again allow a bastard borne of the smithy to hold the woman who just saved Westeros, but for maybe the first time in his life, Gendry couldn't bring himself to care about houses or lords or any of that. She was alive and he was too, and there was nothing else save her and the daylight.  

* * *

At first, nobody seemed quite sure of what to do. There had been so much loss, and they were ragged, the lot of them. Eventually, Jon Snow told them to take a brief rest, but croaked they should get to work returning Winterfell to its right state by the time the sun was highest. One by one, the survivors sought soft, quiet spots in which to sleep. 

After Gendry had set Arya back down, the others had said nothing with their mouths but everything with their eyes. Ser Davos and Jon's eyes narrowed in their direction. Sansa Stark, too, said nothing, though he swore he saw her smirking as she strode towards Bran. It was at that point Gendry considered avoiding Arya altogether for a while. The reality of a realm outside the battle of living and dead was already coming back to them. Perhaps she had only kissed him because she was feeling what they all felt - relief - and perhaps she only wanted to lay with him because they thought they would be dead within hours, and he was a fool to have enjoyed it so. It quickly became clear, however, that Arya had other thoughts on the matter.

He had trudged back to the food stores, keen to sleep upon the sack of grain they had shared hours before only to look behind him and find she had followed him there. She flopped down, shucking her outer armor, and patted the spot beside her. All he remembered was her, _alive_ , curling up in the crook of his arm as he lay on the flat of his back, covered them in his cloak, and submitted to a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

Days of mourning and cleaning and rebuilding passed in a blur. Gendry kept himself busy; for better or worse there was plenty of work to be done. He was thankful for it. He preferred for his mind to be occupied with anything other than memories of the Long Night. He did not see much of Arya during the days, though she made a point of finding him whenever meals were served and sitting beside him, sometimes saying nothing, but often looking into his face with a small smile before leaning her head on his arm.

At night she would come to him, appearing without a sound and taking him by the hand to her girlhood chamber which had been untouched by the wights. Gendry still hadn't a clue as to how she knew exactly where he was, but he found it strangely comforting that she always sought to find him. There he would sleep with his arm around her until he'd wake, panting and sweat-drenched, from the same nightmare, the one in which wights hurtled towards him in the dead of night, wrenched away his axe, and forced him to watch as they devoured Arya before devouring him. 

There were dozens of them left alive, a couple hundred at best judging by the group that stood outside the castle for a mass funeral, finally held after long stretches spent moving bodies beyond its walls. Gendry hadn't known many of the people at Winterfell, but he bowed his head when they stood outside the castle as Daenerys Targaryen called out the names of those who had fallen, reminding them all again of what they could not soon forget. Her tears fell freely as she spoke of House Mormont, of Ser Jorah and little Lyanna, of Edd Tollett of the Night's Watch, of Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, of thousands of Unsullied and Dothraki soldiers on the front lines of battle, of the men and women who fought for all mankind. Beric Dondarrion's body had been found after the battle, and Gendry heard whispers he'd sacrified himself so that Arya could escape. Gendry felt twinges of guilt as she spoke. He knew he wasn't the best fighter, and yet other, better soldiers had died unceremoniously in droves while he managed to live. He noticed the Red Woman was conspicuously absent, and his  suspicion was that she would not be returning to them. 

Ser Davos had clapped him on the back after Daenerys said a beautiful word ("Dracarys") and had her dragon set the dead aflame. The fire blazed, spreading for what seemed like miles ahead of them. The flames licked the pale bases of the clouds as they passed, perhaps sending the souls of the dead into the heavens to forge light itself. That's what Gendry liked to think, at least.  

"Alright, Gendry?"

"Aye. You?"

"Oh, fine, fine. I wanted to thank you, lad, for helping make sure this army stood a fighting chance. And of course, how happy it seems you've made her," he said the last part under his breath and nodded towards Arya, who stood still as stone ahead of them. Gendry, flustered, cleared his throat and nodded in Ser Davos' direction, not noticing the smile he wore beneath his beard. 

* * *

 

A feast followed that evening. Lady Sansa's strategically immense food stores seemed a cruel joke now, with the dead playing the fools. He stared into his glass of wine as the Dragon Queen made another speech, but he could only pretend he was listening, clapping when others clapped, for his mind was where it often wandered.  _Arya_. 

Lately his thoughts drifted to the early days. He remembered the moment he saw her, before he knew who she was, small and fierce when faced with a boy three times her sized. The last time he'd seen her before Winterfell, he knew he'd broken a piece of her by choosing to stay with the Brotherhood. He cursed his hardheadedness, his conviction at the time that the common folk were the only ones who could possibly accept him. How laughable it was now, knowing his choice was what nearly got him killed by Stannis and the Red Woman.  

_I could be your family._

Words he wouldn't forget. 

She came to him after a man he did not know ("Pod," Lord Tyrion Lannister had called him) sang a song that left everyone in attendance weeping in their seats. Again she took him by the hand, again she led him to her girlhood chamber, and again Gendry obliged as he had done every night. It wasn't because he felt he had to, for he could not deny Arya anything before try as he might, but rather because she was  _Arya_ and that meant something, _everything_. He certainly could not deny her now that she had vanquished the single most terrifying force he reckoned Westeros had ever known. This night, however, as he lit the fire in her chamber, he turned around to see her pulling off her clothes. She had more scars than before. 

"Lay with me, Gendry," Arya had partly asked and partly commanded. And again he could not deny her, nor did he want to, and it did not take long before he too was naked, holding her, kissing her, savoring her hands on his neck, her gray eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. Gendry knew he'd lain with other women in the past, but somehow after laying with Arya Stark, it seemed all a distant dream, a past life he was glad to leave behind as they came undone together again. 

* * *

 

His eyes following the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slept some time later, the pulse in her neck beating slowly.  _Alive_. Here she was, Arya Stark of Winterfell, the woman who killed the Night King, who ended the Great War, breathing and warm and choosing to share her bed with  _him_. Gendry still could not fully comprehend his fortune. He still wasn't entirely sure what Arya saw in him, nor how, exactly, she had become so practiced at slipping away from any given place entirely unnoticed and reappear so suddenly, ready to steal away with him. But he knew something for certain, and perhaps saying it out loud would finally make it real.  

"I love you," Gendry whispered. He stroked her forehead just above the cut that had begun to heal and twined his ankle around hers. 

"Is that so?" Gendry blanched as she opened an eye, smirking. 

"Seven Hells, Arya," he blustered. She pulled him close and kissed him deeply. Gendry wondered if her tongue stole his words each time she tasted him, for as so often happened after her lips touched his, he didn't know what to say.  

"How long?" 

"What?"

"How long have you felt this way?" She searched his face. 

"I..." Gendry struggled. 

"Only since I killed the Night King?"

"No! No," Gendry said quickly. "Of course not."

"Longer?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "I think... I didn't want to accept what you meant to me, back then. You were my best friend, really, but I was... I was so intent on doing things my own way at the time. And I didn't think it would even be possible, you being a Lady and everything. I thought you were the naive one, but I was wrong."  

"Didn't think it would be possible," Arya repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't think _what_ would be possible?" 

"To... to be your family," Gendry admitted. "I'm sorry." 

"I understand," Arya said. "You weren't the only one I lost then." 

Gendry said nothing. She looked past him for a moment before she sighed and looked towards the fire. 

"For a long time after that, I didn't want anyone to love me," she said quietly. "I didn't want to love anyone else, either. I almost believed I didn't, for a while." Again, Gendry said nothing. 

"There's a reason I could do what I did," Arya said, lowering her voice and turning her body to face his, finding his gaze again. "When I was on my own, I went to Braavos. I trained with the Faceless Men." 

Gendry's eyes widened as words finally came to him. "I've only ever heard stories... whispers, of the ones who can take on another's face as they take their life, become shadows, move swifter than the wind." 

"There are whispers for a reason. If you want to truly serve death, you must give your life," Arya explained. "To become one of the Faceless Men I was to abandon Arya Stark, my family... everyone. Having no connections is the safest way to be able to be anyone, and no one." She glanced at his hand where it lay on hers. Gendry briefly wondered if she dreamed from behind the faces of others.

"Most of us only have one life, "Arya continued. "And for a long time I thought I was destined to live mine alone. I tried so hard to push it all away, but... I couldn't. At some point I realized I couldn't truly _be_ no one. I didn't want to let go, not fully, because I cared about some people in this world. So I decided I had to return to Winterfell." 

Gendry was looking at her now, watching the way her eyes fixed on some distant spot as she spoke, remembering. He was looking at her and knew he was finally  _seeing_ her. 

"I realized I wanted to feel. I wanted to feel my anger, and love, and hate, and everything between. Death may have trained me, but life brought me back here." 

She had shifted her elbows onto Gendry's chest, looking down into his eyes. She kissed him once, deeply, enough so he could taste her, then again gently with closed lips.  

"I wanted to know what it was like to be with one of the few men of honor and conviction I'd ever truly known, to lay with him because I wanted to, and because he wanted to. And once I did, I knew I never really left myself behind."  

As she spoke, the truth dawned on him, brighter than the morning after she brought light back to the North.

"To be honest, I don't think I ever really let go of myself in Braavos. The anger had always been strong, so it was easy to feel that again. It was the love that took some getting used to, and now it's too easy. You must know, Gendry, that I love you too." 

Gendry smiled and squeezed her hand.

"You must also know," she continued. "That I'm not sure what scared me more - telling you that, or a thousand wights." They both laughed. Somehow it made more sense to laugh at the horror, rather than let it rule them. It was getting easier. 

"D'you think... you could tell me about your travels?"

"In time," Arya said. "And only if you tell me about yours, or why you shaved all your bloody hair off." She ran her hand over his head and he smiled. 

"Much easier to live without lice or fleas, and there's not much to tell, to be honest." 

"I don't believe that for a second, what with you going on about you and your cock being covered in leeches."

"But it's true, milady," he teased. And as she playfully smacked his arm, they fell into each other again, and Gendry knew he would always feel more at home in her arms than anywhere else on earth, for he was united with his family at last. 


End file.
